Solitude
by Paperclip-Assassin
Summary: It's hard to pinpoint the exact moment that Dean's world is turned upside-down but it probably starts when this dude falls from the sky and says, "I am an Angel of the Lord." Or when the same dude tells him that he and his brother are the chosen ones. Chosen for what? Why, to re-establish the balance between Heaven and earth of course. - AU. Part 1 of 3.


It was a nice morning. An untainted beginning to a historical day. The air was clear and crisp, the rays of the sun bright but no longer warming, and the tree tops already showing signs of the beautiful colours that would paint them once fall hit with full force. A slight buzz of tension hung tangibly in the houses and backyards of suburbia, nurturing people's anticipation all over the country. Late sleepers were awake early, workaholics were unoccupied for the day, and couch-potatoes kept their TVs turned off.

The small town of Lawrence was no exception to this unusual backwards way of events, every citizen visibly excited for what the day held in store for them. Never before had America, or the world for that matter, seen what the universe was about to reveal.

It was the Day of The Angels' Descent.

What that meant exactly was heavily debated. Church leaflets preached with a lot of unnecessary capitalization going on that _God would send his Cherubs to Earth to take away all Sin and cleanse the Souls of the Impure_, while atheists doubted that very much, instead believing that whatever was going on could be explained with science or logic or at least conspiracy theories. Whatever it was, the event was of never before seen proportions. No wonder the population was in such unsettlement, such uproar.

But not everyone seemed entirely at peace with what was to come, prime example being Sam and Dean Winchester. The brothers had been decidedly suspicious when it came to the existence of angels or a God and no one really blamed them. After all it had to be hard to believe in the Divine when you had your mother taken away at an early age, a father who spent more time with Johnnie Walker than his sons and then have religion tell them in explanation that '_The Lord works in mysterious ways'_.

Yes, you could say the two were highly sceptical. That was the reason why they had fled their hometown of Lawrence for the day, seeking shelter at their secret hiding place; a huge bunker hidden in the woods of Lebanon, Kansas. They had found it more or less by coincidence through a map falling into their hands when exploring boxes of their grandfather's in the attic one afternoon. Grandfather Henry had been part of this super-secret society called the Men of Letters and the bunker was filled with all sorts of funky stuff only waiting to be discovered by the brothers.

Sam in all his twenty-year-old geekiness spent most of the time looking through Latin transcripts in the maze-like library while his older brother Dean liked the 'manly' things, like the weapons or the vehicles in the enormously spacious garage. Too bad he couldn't take the bike for a little tour, he thought absentmindedly as he trailed a finger along the shiny surface of the motorcycle by his side, meticulously polished by none other than the older Winchester brother himself.

Even though the two of them rarely spent their time together- except when they decided to explore new rooms and hallways- they never visited the bunker alone. It was their safe haven, their fortress. A place where they didn't have to worry and could forget the world, pretending that their world wasn't cracked and that their mother would wait for them at home with freshly baked pie and a smile gracing her beautiful face.

It always hurt twice as much when they, reluctantly, returned to Lawrence to find the house reeking of booze instead of freshly baked dessert, no matter how many years passed since their discovery of the place.

"Hey, Dean."

Dean spun around at the unexpected sound of his brother's voice. He couldn't remember when the little nerd had come to the garage last. "What up?" he asked, not entirely masking his surprise.

His brother shifted nervously from foot to foot, lanky body swaying with the movement and reminding Dean how tall the once smaller boy had become. It annoyed him that he, as the older and wiser one obviously, had to actually look _up_ at his _little_ brother now. Sam cleared his throat. "It's almost noon," he said cautiously.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah. So?"

"Look, I know we said this whole Descent of the Angels thing was crap but… aren't you, like, even a little curious, Dean?"

Of course Dean was freaking curious but he had sworn not to believe in this angel bullshit. "Y'know what's gonna happen at twelve o'clock, Sammy? Nothing. Absolutely nothing, alright?" He did his best impression of his dad's stern voice in an attempt to be intimidating.

Sam's shoulders slumped visibly. "I know. I'm not saying that it is, just that taking a look won't hurt. We could go up to the roof and see what all the fuzz is about and if nothing happens then we can get on with our lives, maybe stay overnight again. We haven't done that in a while."

Dean was powerless against the pleading look akin that of a Golden Retriever puppy in his brother's dark eyes. "Fine." He sighed and dropped the oil-stained kitchen towel in his hands. "We'll go have a little looksee so you realize that there's nothing _to_ see. And we can stay a little while longer but we gotta drive back home later. It's a school night."

Sam bitch-faced. "Deeean."

"Don't 'Dean' me. Just because I ditched classes don't mean I'll let you do the same. Besides, you're the one wanting to become a lawyer, a bit more discipline would be nice." He led the way out of the garage toward the steep ladder leading all the way up to the roof. "Now c'mon before I change my mind." Sam rushed past him, quickly reaching the metal construction and climbing it. Dean followed at a slower pace.

Dean didn't realize he'd been expecting something until he set foot onto the roof to find absolutely nothing. Except for a chilly breeze that hadn't been there at their arrival in Lebanon nothing had changed, and it was only five more minutes until the estimated arrival of the Angels.

"Looks like you were right," Sam said in defeat, eyes focused on the almost blinding blue sky above. For a second Dean wanted the Descent to be real, just for his brother's sake, but he abandoned the sentiment quickly. If angels were real, his mother wouldn't have died. They would have been watching her, would have saved her. But they hadn't. So if angels _were_ real- and that was a big goddamn If right there- Dean didn't want anything to do with those bastards.

"'Course I was right," he said roughly, ignoring Sam rolling his eyes. "Can we get back inside now? l don't have my jacket with me." Dean was just about to turn and climb back into the bunker when he saw Sam tense.

"Dude, look!"

Dean followed the direction his younger brother was pointing at and almost forgot how to breathe for a moment. There, in the very same sky that had been clear and blue not two seconds ago, appeared hundreds of lights, maybe thousands, probably more.

Within moments the world became too bright to look at, even when Dean closed his eyes and called for Sam to do the same, and turned black a second later as both Winchesters were knocked to the ground.

…

Once the feeling came creeping back into his body and mind Dean became faintly aware of his heartbeat in his chest, frantic with confusion and worry. His first conscious thought was of Sam and he tried to move but he must have hit something harder than the floor because the mere attempt to change his position sent a jolt of pain through the entire left side of his sore body. He heard a guttural groan that reverberated in his pounding head and realized too late that it was coming from him.

"I think he's coming to."

The disembodied voice was close and unfamiliar and Dean wanted to open his eyes, suspecting they had been attacked by some culprits, Men of Letters maybe, or spies.

"Dean! Oh my god, Dean. Are you in pain?"

That was Sammy speaking. Dean tried to nod but didn't know if he was successful in that endeavour or not. Judging by the reaction he got, though, it seemed like he was. There was a hand grasping at his hurt shoulder and he groaned again, breathless with pain.

"Shit!" bodiless Sam hissed and the hand disappeared. "Sorry."

"Maybe you should have a look, Cassie, after all he's your responsibility." Another voice. Jeez, Dean's head was buzzing enough as it was, all these new sounds were definitely not helping his condition.

"Of course." Well, at least that was the first voice once more. Dean tried to open his eyes again and this time he managed to at least squint at his surroundings. Everything was blurred and he had to blink like half a million times until his vision cleared enough to make out the exact shape of whoever was talking.

Eyes finally open he found three faces staring down at him. Sam was the closest, his brown eyes blown wide with fear. He let his gaze linger for a moment, trying to communicate a sense of security to his younger brother, before he looked at the other two people more closely. One was standing a bit further away, arms crossed like he had nothing to do with whatever had happened. He looked kind of short but Dean thought that might as well have to do with the distance. The other dude looked constipated. He was almost as close as Sam, uncomfortably so, and observed Dean with the oddest mixture of interest and confusion. He had his head tilted slightly to the side, his lips parted and eyes narrowed so Dean could barely see the blue irises.

"I am going to touch you now, Dean Winchester."

That was a clear red light situation, Dean thought and tried to move away as Mr Constipation reached for him. "What's goin' on?" Dean croaked, looking back at Sam. "The fuck are these ass-clowns?"

"Uh," Sam looked at the smaller dude for a second, avoiding Dean's glare. "Just… I don't even know. Just let him touch you. It's impossible to explain." His brother sounded sure enough for Dean to stop squirming and allow the blue-eyed man to brush his fingers against his forehead.

Warmth filled his entire body and it was like it grew in temperature, burning but not hurting him. It was strange but with every passing moment the soreness left his system until only the sensation of the man's touch remained. The hand left his face and Dean blinked a couple of times, tentatively rolling his shoulder and moving to sit up when he found the pain to be really gone.

"What the actual fuck." Dean exhaled noisily. He needed to stand up, maybe pace nervously for a while. Whatever just happened, it was freaking him the fuck out. Sam followed his example and got up from where he was kneeling too only to be immediately inspected by Dean who was looking for injuries and signs of a concussion.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam complained, batting his hands away in annoyance. "I wasn't hit as hard as you were."

"What the hell was I hit _with_?" Dean asked, looking around in search for whatever massive, glowing item had fallen from the sky and collided with him. Maybe there had been a flying saucer. But no matter how often he turned or where he looked, there was nothing out of the ordinary there on the roof of the bunker. Well, aside from the two random strangers, one of whom had just performed a miracle first aid on him.

"I'm afraid it was me," the constipated guy said guiltily. "My apologies." The voice was unfittingly dark for the man, who was slightly shorter than Dean- and taller than the other guy who looked even smaller standing next to his Sasquatch of a little brother.

"You?" Dean asked incredulously. "How could you have possibly hit me, dude? Did you fall from the sky or something?"

The guy nodded. "From Heaven, to be more precise."

Dean was quiet for a long moment and then laughed. "Okay, okay. You got me Sam. That's why you suddenly wanted to be up here so badly, I get it now. What are these two? Actors? Did you pay them?"

Sam scrunched up his face. "No, Dean. They're… angels. And stop laughing, damnit!"

Dean couldn't. He was bellowing his laughter into the air, shaking with it until he was wheezing with lack of oxygen. "Yeah, sure. Of course." He tried catching his breath, not entirely successfully but enough to keep talking without interrupting himself with constant chuckling. He clapped the blue eyed guy on the back, noticing his strangely formal attire for the first time. An ill-fitting business suit and a tan trench coat? Really? His little brother had a strange idea of what angels looked like.

"Your brother is right, Dean," the man said earnestly. "I am an Angel of the Lord." He nodded into the shorter man's direction. "We, as millions of our brothers and sisters, have been sent to Earth by our Father."

"Sure, I believe you." Dean shrugged, the statement earning him three wide-eyed stares. "Just one question: What happened to harps, wings, halos and all the other bullshit? You leave that upstairs?"

Sam sent him an epic bitch face he didn't know yet.

(Dean mentally catalogued it as Bitch Face #44 b. – "stop-insulting-the-angels-you-insensitive-douche"- and filed it away in the "Unicorns-exist-and-fairy-tales-are-real" category)

Before Dean could offer another smart retort, the blue-eyed man spoke up. "All of these traits have been specified to us by humans. Some of my brethren are skilled with musical instruments, we do have wings but our terrestrial manifestations prevent you from seeing them, the halo can be explained as our true form which appears to human eyes as pure light. As for the bovine feces? I'm afraid we do not have that in Heaven."

"Sorry, my little brother here tends to take things literally," the other guy explained. "But you can shut your cakehole right now and safe your lovely sarcasm for another time. We're angels, alright."

The whole exchange made Dean slowly but surely doubt his '_Haha, my brother hired actors to mess with me_' theory. It kind of made sense, didn't it? It was the Day of the Angels' Descent. And Awkward Blue Eyes over there had healed him by just touching his forehead. Still, disbelief was prominent in his voice as he stated, "Angels."

The short guy nodded. "Yes."

"Huh." Not the most eloquent response but Dean was suddenly confronted with something no one had ever prepared him for and, frankly, it was a little overwhelming. "Angels," he repeated.

"Angels. Cherubs. Seraphim. Whatever you call us down here."

"You might have to explain a couple of things," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Dou you want to come inside or something?" Did you offer angels that had fallen to earth a snack? Did they even eat?

"They can't get inside the bunker, Dean," Sam explained. When Dean raised his eyebrows in a silent question, he elaborated. "It's warded or something. They can't explain it."

"Okay, well, I think we've got to talk out here then. Can I go and grab a jacket real quick?" Dean shivered in emphasis. In a moment he was offered the trench of the blue-eyed guy. He stared at it for a moment before he accepted it. "Thanks." He slipped it on, noticing how big it was and that it smelt of absolutely nothing.

"What would you like to know?"

"Well, who you are, obviously. And why you're here." Dean crossed his arms awkwardly, the too-big trench coat making the action difficult.

"My name is Castiel," said the blue-eyed man. Angel. Whatever. "And this is my brother Gabriel."

"Wait," Sam spoke up, "Gabriel, as in the _archangel_ Gabriel?"

"Enchanté." The shorter one, Gabriel, said smugly. "We've been assigned as your guardian angels."

For a long moment neither the Winchesters nor the angels said a word. Blue-Eyes, aka Castiel, had his head tilted again while Gabriel just waited, letting the information sink in. Sam was the first to speak. "That's… awesome."

"Wait, wait, wait." Dean held up both his hands, drawing attention to himself. "Aren't you gonna question anything they say? I mean fine, Castiel there went all freaky-mojo-magic on me and I don't have an explanation for that but seriously. Guardian angels? Did everyone suddenly get a model of those?"

"It's complicated," Castiel said gravelly. "A large number of us fell, not even I can tell how many exactly. To the average human the Fall may have looked like a meteor shower, only assorted ones, like you and your brother, are able to see what is really happening. You have been chosen." The words were spoken solemnly and with such authority that not even Dean dared to mock them. That didn't mean he was done asking questions.

"Chosen for what?"

Castiel's mouth opened as if he wanted to say something but then his eyes darted to the other angel briefly before they grew distant and cold. "It is not yet our place to reveal the whole extent of your destiny."

"Fair enough," said Sam. "But… why now? What's going on in Heaven that set all this in motion?"

"Heaven's on hold for the time being," Gabriel grumbled, tugging at his ear. "That's all I can tell you."

"So, you're basically homeless."

Gabriel chuckled. "Aww, Deano, you're real cute. We're celestial beings. We don't need sleep, we don't need nourishment, we don't even need to use a bathroom. Ever. I think we can deal, right Cassie?"

Castiel rolled his ridiculously blue eyes. "I would prefer if you didn't refer to me by that name, Gabriel."

"And I would prefer if you lost that stick up your ass, we don't always get what we want. _Cassie_." Gabriel looked smugly at the other angel who looked like his brain had been short-circuited.

"I do not have a-"

"_Anyway_," Dean interrupted wisely. "Sam and I, we're honoured to be, y'know, chosen and whatnot but… I think we'll decline." This time he recognized his brother's bitch face. (It was the all-too familiar Bitch Face #5 – "_I-make-my-own-decisions-you-dork_"). He ignored it. "Whatever's going on, you're holy enough to deal with it yourselves."

Castiel stepped closer, invading Dean's personal space mercilessly so their noses were almost touching. "You don't understand," he murmured. "What has been decided, has been decided. There is no way to change fate. The world will need you and your brother, as well as others, to re-establish the balance between Heaven and earth. Otherwise we will face a disaster of proportions you couldn't fathom in your darkest nightmares."

And you know what? That shut Dean up pretty good for the time being. He swallowed once, realized he had been holding his breath and exhaled a puff of air. Castiel narrowed his eyes before taking a step back, which meant he was still standing too close for comfort.

"What my brother is trying to say," Gabriel alleged, "Is that you two are pretty damn special. That's why we've been sent to watch over you. You must be protected at all costs."

Dean didn't say anything.

Sam frowned and folded his arms across his chest. "Let me get this straight. For some reason that you can't tell us yet, a truckload of angels fell from Heaven… and Dean and me can somehow help you, though why and how you can't tell us either. So you're just going to watch over us until you can actually tell us what's going on?"

"I knew you were smart - that's why the two of us will get along great." Gabriel winked almost flirtatiously.

"Does that mean I got paired with the embodiment of Awkwardness itself over there?" Dean huffed, not even slightly sorry when Castiel actually looked somewhat insulted. "I might need a drink." He turned, walking toward the iron ladder leading back inside the bunker. "You comin'?"

"Dean, they can enter."

"I know. I was talking to you, genius. They can manage to keep themselves entertained for two freaking minutes."

Sam couldn't argue that point and so both Winchesters climbed down into their shelter. Dean lead the way into the kitchen, intent on grabbing a beer from the fridge but deciding against it and making a beeline for the shelf with the stronger liquor instead. He poured himself a glass of whiskey or something and began pondering the strange situation.

He had a guardian angel now. Castiel. (Whose trench he was still wearing). Where the fuck had that angel been when Sam had fallen out of the tree house and almost broken his neck. Or when Grandma Diane had been diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. Or when their house had caught fire and his mom hadn't made it out in time.

Castiel hadn't been there, hadn't cared, when Dean had really needed him but now that the angels needed _him_ he was supposed to just go with it and dedicate his existence to their cause. That didn't sound fair at all.

Dean was pulled from his thoughts when Sam took the glass from him and forcefully placed it onto the shelf with an audible thump. Reluctantly he looked up to meet his brother's gaze. "What?"

"There's no need for you to be so rude."

"Sorry. Would you like a drink as well?"

(Enter: Bitch Face #1 – "Jerk.")

"Dean, I'm serious. I know it's crazy, I mean only this morning we didn't believe in angels and now we got two of them staying with us-"

Dean gaped at his brother, silencing him with a hand gesture. "Dude, no. They're not staying with us. If they really need to ogle us they can do that from afar, I really don't want that winged dick anywhere near me."

"You're being an ass. Maybe it's always been meant to be, maybe Grandfather knew and left us the map for a reason. Just think about it- if he hadn't known about angels why would he have warded the bunker against them?"

"Exactly," Dean muttered. "He warded it _against_ them. I'm telling you, something's not right." He took the glass from the shelf again and drained it in one gulp, then he screwed the bottle shut and placed it back in its rightful spot.

And really, when the Winchesters returned to the roof the angels were gone. Nothing reminded of their presence, it was like they hadn't been there at all. On a silent agreement the brothers went back inside and did their familiar routine of closing everything up. It wasn't like anyone else ever came to the bunker but for some reason they always made it look like nothing had been touched. Just in case.

…

About an hour later they were on the road, heading back to the real world where angels hadn't fallen from the sky- or where no one noticed, at least. The drive took roughly four hours but Dean always took a quicker route and pushed his beloved muscle car to the limit. Still, when Lawrence came into view the sun had already disappeared on the horizon and the moon had taken its place, a gleaming white crescent on dusky canvas.

The morning's commotion had ceased and instead the air was dulled with disappointment. So much had been promised, a new era had been thought to being. Nothing had happened. The atmosphere was pacifying, creeping up on Dean and spinning a net of denial around the day's events. The further they drove into Lawrence, the more he could pretend that a mundane time lay behind him. He had found the trench coat in the bunker, somewhere, and that man- the one with dark hair and blue eyes- he had probably seen on the street.

When they arrived at their residence, Dean felt peaceful. The house called out to him, almost hypnotising, and it was like nothing mattered, all he knew was that he had to get out of the confined space he was in and into the building. It would free him, Dean knew that. And it glowed so very beautifully, too.

Next to him he could see his brother speak but the words weren't important. He stopped the car in the middle of the road and it felt like the world slowed. _Nothing_ was important.

The house was still calling.

With heavy steps, each one sending the planet trembling in its orbit, he closed the distance between his body and salvation. It would all be okay once the light would swallow him, orange and yellow dancing on his skin. The light grew warmer as the house smiled invitingly, only a few more steps and he'd be home.

Suddenly something was restricting him. Two arms were holding him back, keeping his destination out of reach. Somehow Dean knew he was yelling, screaming at the top of his lungs to make his despair known to the world but no sound would reach his ears. Whoever was holding him was shouting too, Dean could see it, but he didn't recognize the person.

A well-aimed punch sent them flying and Dean could resume his journey. Only three more steps.

Two.

One.

Dean felt betrayed.

The house wasn't warm and inviting, it was burning him, tearing at his skin and the colours that had been caressing him were now piercing his eyes with their brightness. This had nothing to do with salvation. This was Hell.

Dean struggled against the heat, falling down and curling up to minimize the area that could be attacked. How long he cowered there, he didn't know. Maybe a minute, maybe forty years- to him there was no difference as he suffered all the same.

He was so indulged in his agony, mourning the deception, that he didn't notice the sudden rush of air, like the flutter of giant wings. He couldn't comprehend the way he was flung out of the biting heat into unflustered darkness.

…

There was a pitch black gap in his memory before his head cleared.

He was lying on his back in the centre of his front yard, gaze on the sky above. It was night, it had to be, but it wasn't dark. Something was illuminating the place, and it wasn't the street lights that much was clear. Dean moved until he was upright enough to see what was happening.

A moment later he wished he'd stayed put, because he did not need that kind of déja-vu.

There, right before his eyes, he saw the kind of inferno he had last witnessed when he'd been ten years old. Flames where licking at his house, his home, consuming it. Nothing was sacred to the fire, it devoured mercilessly and Dean could only watch helplessly until he realized with a start that he had thrown himself at the firestorm willingly. Why he could not explain, only remembering this strange sense of compulsion that had controlled him. To him there had been nothing else but the fire.

Frantically he looked at his arms for burns, knowing his body must be covered in blisters and scars, even if whoever had pulled him out of the hellhole had been quick. Against all logic he found his skin unmarked, except for a spot of uneven skin on his left shoulder. His clothing was ripped in some places and burnt in others but all in all it seemed like he'd had a guardian angel watch over him.

Wait.

Dean scrambled to his feet and spun around. There, leaning against his car and panting heavily with his hair in disarray and his cheeks stained black and his eyes so blue that they were bright even in the semi-darkness, stood a familiar figure.

"Hello, Dean."


End file.
